


Choosing is Easy, When the Choice is You

by MetaphorCheese



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Whump (Good Omens), Fallen Angel Aziraphale (Good Omens), Heaven is Terrible (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Blood, Soft Crowley (Good Omens), Whump, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:47:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23522551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MetaphorCheese/pseuds/MetaphorCheese
Summary: When faced with a choice between Crowley and being an Angel, Aziraphale knows what he has to do.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 135





	1. Chapter 1

“But why, angel? Why are you going back, they don't even _like_ you!” 

“Thank you for that extremely helpful reminder,” Aziraphale snapped, pulling his waistcoat on. “I happen to be going back because that's my _job,_ Crowley. Whether or not they like me is another matter entirely.” 

“How can you be so bloody stupid? You think you're so smart, busying yourself with books, but you can't even see that going back to a realm full of angels that would prefer you dead is a really stupid idea!”

“You think I don't know that?” Aziraphale's voice wavered, as if one more protest, one more breath, would teeter himself off the edge of his resolve into the rocky water below. “I can't just… I can't just abandon who I was, Crowley… I have to believe, to have _faith,_ that I'm not a disgrace in Her eyes.”

“I just -” Crowley stopped himself, pinching the bridge of his nose. He took a deep breath before continuing, forcing himself to remain calm. “Fine. Go see why you were summoned. And come back, angel. That's all I ask.”

“Of course I'll come back, you silly serpent,” Aziraphale laughed nervously, anxiety present in the little lines by his eyes as he feigned a smile. “‘Get thee gone, good night,’ as the Bard wrote.”

“Yes, yes, go on, then. I'll be waiting when you get back.”

As Crowley walked out of the front door of the little bookshop, a blinding white light shone through the windows before disappearing so definitively, the resulting darkness was unsure if it had truly been replaced at all. 

~~

Aziraphale, despite his penchant for punctuality, could not bring himself to alert Crowley to his return. The damned (both literally and idiomatically) demon had been only too right to have been concerned. 

Well, not concerned. Aziraphale was unsure that Crowley had ever truly been concerned about anything that didn't directly involve himself. Perhaps… tastefully argumentative. 

At any rate, Aziraphale was in no mood to be gloated to. He had had plenty of lecturing over the past week, thank you very much. He didn't need any more, not when he already felt so rotten. 

However, he should have expected that it wouldn't take long for one Anthony J. Crowley to come to check up on him. After all, the demon had a reputation for being able to sense when Aziraphale needed help, and, as the angel later would admit to himself, he definitely needed help. 

Two weeks after Aziraphale had returned home, Crowley let himself into the shop (letting himself in, in this case, included vanishing the locks and making it very clear to the door that he wanted it to remember to open when he arrived). He was struck by a distinct lack of the usual warmth the shop had. 

Instead, as certain as Crowley was that Aziraphale was somewhere inside this fucking maze of a bookshop, he was even more certain that something was very, very wrong. 

“Aziraphale?” Crowley yelled, barging forward. “I know you're in here, angel!”

“Not…” A muffled voice came from a back room. 

“Oh, bless it,” Crowley swore, pushing stacks of books over. He was half-hoping that Aziraphale would come running out, scolding him about ‘respecting the written word’ or some shit like that. Of course, he had no such luck. Snapping his fingers, the door swung open in front of him, finally allowing him to see what he could only assume was Aziraphale. 

The angel was sitting in the corner of the small room, hidden in a mound of blankets and feathers. He shrunk away from Crowley, trying to hide even further. “Go away! I'm… I'm indecent!”

“What the fuck does that even mean? You disappear for weeks and now won't even let me see you? What have you been doing that you don't think I can see?” 

“I don't… I don't want you to see, Crowley. Please, just go… “

Crowley sighed, kneeling next to the trembling mess on the floor. He snapped, activating several lamps that were definitely not there a moment ago, and breathed in sharply. 

Aziraphale's wings were, predictably, the source of the feathers. However, instead of the opalescent white they had always been, there were streaks of grey and black feathers littering the previously blank canvas. Crowley's reptilian eyes widened even further as he saw the sheer amount of feathers littering the ground, along with the few drops of blood staining them from where Aziraphale had forcibly yanked the offending feathers from his wings. 

“Zira…”

“They've been like this since I got back,” Aziraphale whispered miserably, refusing to lift his gaze from the floor. “I've officially been… What's that vulgar human phase? Shitcanned.”

“Thossse bastards,” Crowley hissed, barely containing his rage. “Did they hurt you? Did they lay one single finger on you? Tell me!” 

“No, no,” Aziraphale assured, wiping at his eyes. “Please calm yourself, Crowley… This is no one's fault but my own. I… failed to resist your temptations. I betrayed my side. And, would you like to know the worst part?”

“What would that be?” Crowley asked, reaching out a hand to gently touch the angel's wings. 

“I… I had the option to stay. I could have stayed on my side, but I would have never been allowed back on Earth. I would have never been allowed to see you again. I just couldn't give that up -- couldn't give you up.”

“Oh, Zira… you stupid, stupid angel… “ Before he quite knew what he was doing, Crowley had pulled the shorter man into his lap. 

“I'm not sure what I am anymore,” Aziraphale admitted, leaning his head back against his chest. “I still feel like me, at least… but I don't think I'm officially an angel anymore.”

“You're my angel,” Crowley murmured without thinking. 

“Feeling sappy, are we?” Aziraphale teased, blushing lightly. However, he had to admit that this was the closest he'd felt to smiling since he'd been summoned. 

“Shut it, you know what I mean. You're my adversary, so obviously you'd be my angel. It doesn't mean I love you, why would you even assume a thing like that?” 

“I never said anything about that, dear.” 

“Fuck. Well, I don't. Love you, that is.”

Aziraphale lifted his head, placing a soft kiss on Crowley's chin. “That's quite alright. For, as you well know, demon, I don't love you either. I simply adore you.” 

Saying no more words aloud, but sharing feelings vividly, both angel and demon remained in that position for the rest of the night.


	2. Chapter 2

Aziraphale rarely slept. He hated the idea of missing valuable time or information by sleeping through it. He had gone to great lengths to avoid sleeping, especially after he discovered that Crowley's century-long-nap was completely unintentional. 

Despite this, when he no longer had virtue to keep ever-vigilant, not to mention a certain fiery-haired demon practically enveloping him in a drowsy warmth, Aziraphale's resolve against sleep broke down. Not one to waste time, however, his dreams exclusively decided to replay the events he had been trying desperately to forget. 

~~

Aziraphale stepped off the escalator and onto the whiteness that could not quite decide whether it wanted to be tile or cloud beneath his shoes. He walked through the too-long, too-empty, too-cold hallway that only seemed to grow longer, emptier, and colder with every step. He fidgeted with the hem of his waistcoat, straightening and re-straightening it as he went. 

Just as he began to wonder if there truly would be anyone waiting to speak with him, Aziraphale rounded a corner. Standing in front of him, hands on his hips, was Gabriel. He was flanked by Michael and Uriel on his right and Sandalphon on his left. Sandalphon's lip curled, and Aziraphale stumbled over a step that had absolutely not been there previously. 

"Ah, Aziraphale," Gabriel greeted, clapping his hands together. His violet eyes were alight with a triumph that chilled Aziraphale's insides. "We've come up with a solution to our little problem."

"And… And what problem would that be, Gabriel?" Aziraphale asked, taking a deep (and technically unnecessary) breath to steel himself against whatever the Archangels could throw at him. 

"You." Uriel raised an unimpressed eyebrow, her gold trail glinting cruelly as she did so. 

"I see." Aziraphale locked his face into a semblance of a smile, determined to hide the rising worry building inside. 

"Perhaps it would be better, in the future, for you to assume that you are always the problem," Michael chimed in, looking faintly amused. 

"We have decided to offer you a deal. You've been on Earth a while, so we figured you'd appreciate having some 'free will,'" Gabriel continued, making air quotes. "You get two choices. You can stay Up Here. You can keep being an angel, and even start being Loved again after we retrain you, and we'll find you a spot Up Here where even you can't screw up. You will never return to Earth, your contact will be strictly monitored for the next millennia or so, but you can keep being one of Us. Or you Fall, and live your despicable, disgusting life without Her Love."

There is a specific dizziness that comes from walking with one's eyes watching the sky above them. One loses any ability to self-monitor their relative position, and one's brain eventually reacts poorly to try to force the eyes to look away from the unending sky. If, however, one manages to step unknowingly onto the top step of a staircase leading down into a dark, unfamiliar place while staring upwards at the sky, one may feel similar to Aziraphale at that moment as he contemplated his options. 

His options. He was faced with two eternities without love. If he Fell, he would lose the Love of God. If he stayed an angel, he would lose Crowley. He would lose the long nights of reading with Crowley's head in his lap. He would lose long walks in the park before lovely dinners with even lovelier desserts. He would lose his books. He would lose Crowley. 

He would lose everything. 

And for what? An eternity of thinly-veiled threats and even thinner-veiled insults. An eternity of deskwork. An eternity of Love from Someone who was never seen and hardly ever heard from. 

Aziraphale chose Crowley. 

The effects of his Choice (for it had become capitalized) began before he could even open his mouth to announce it. 

Aziraphale burst into flames and dropped through the whiteness that had decided to be cloud. 

~~

Crowley awoke to unholy, devastatingly-familiar screaming. 

His eyes opened as he tried to get up, unintentionally dumping the source of the screaming onto the floor. He swore, dropping back down to wrap Aziraphale into a tight embrace. 

"Hush, shh," Crowley murmured, cupping his cheek in an attempt to redirect the gaze that he knew wasn't quite in the room yet. His voice was high and gentle, as he had trained it to be when calming children. "It's alright, angel, you're alright…"

The touch quelled the screaming, but sobbing soon followed and Crowley was not at all sure that that was an improvement. He pulled Aziraphale closer, rubbing gentle circles on his back as it shook with heavy sobs. 

Once Aziraphale grew quieter with fatigue, he tucked his head into the crook of Crowley's neck. He still shook, his shoulders rising and falling with every shuddery breath. 

"I know, angel. It hurts the worst now, now that the shock is gone. On the bright side, though, at least you're here with me instead of in a pool of boiling goo. I know, it's a tough comparison, but I'm pretty sure I'm more comfortable than a pool of boiling goo," Crowley teased, smiling as he was rewarded with a choked laugh. "There we go. Now, normally I would recommend another nap, but I'm pretty sure it wouldn't be your favorite. How about letting your wings out for me, that's a good angel."

With a shaky sigh, Aziraphale summoned his wings without moving from his position in Crowley's arms. He tensed when Crowley's long fingers first touched the darkened feathers, but relaxed when they were nothing but gentle. 

It helped that Crowley's mouth was alternating between whispering comforting nothings and planting feather-light kisses on Aziraphale's tear-stained face. 

Crowley straightened the crooked feathers, his fingers carding through tender areas to remove any remaining broken feathers. He willed the soft wings to become clean as he went, removing the blood and the ash and replacing the emptiness of raw skin with soft down. 

When he finished, he brought his arms back around Aziraphale's waist and neck. "My pretty angel. Sweet dove."

"Demon," Aziraphale whispered, eyes closed. "Fallen."

"You're hardly a demon, Aziraphale. A Fallen Angel, maybe, but also my angel. I'm here. We're safe."

"Forever?" 

"Forever."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everybody! 
> 
> The first chapter of this is something I wrote a few months ago, and the second is from right now! I'm hoping that any difference in writing style isn't too jarring.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed!

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, everybody!
> 
> I would love any comments, and if you're interested in roleplaying or have a suggestion for a plot for this or the Ineffable Bureaucracy pairing, please let me know!


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